


The Great Pennytree Heist

by LadyRhiyana



Series: Space-pirates!AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Space Pirates, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 00:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: Clegane stares at her. “The fuck did you just say?”Brienne crosses her arms and glowers at him. “You heard what I said. Pennytree.”“But that’s where –” Sansa trails off.“Yes, little bird,” Clegane says. “That’s where the Imperial fleet is. And its leader.” He looks pointedly at Brienne.****The mismatched crew of the good ship Oathkeeper pull off a daring heist.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Space-pirates!AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534496
Comments: 51
Kudos: 124





	The Great Pennytree Heist

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all those who commented and left kudos on The Rescue! Please enjoy the next adventure of our intrepid space-pirates. 
> 
> For ulmo80 and nanosheep, I have given Clegane a knitted hat.

Sansa Stark’s Tully-red hair is bundled haphazardly up in a scarf, and her face is streaked with soot and engine grease. She’s wearing a dirty white shirt, overalls and thick gloves, and her eyes are shining with pride and confidence. 

(“I used to love watching the engineers on the ships at Winterfell,” she had said. “Father used to teach me. It was our secret from Mother.”)

“Should be good to go now, Captain,” she says into the intercom, patting the engines with a proprietary air. 

**

Up on the bridge, Brienne acknowledges her with a grin. 

“All right folks,” she says. “Pod, plot a course for Moat Cailin.” 

His face creased in a serious frown, Pod labours over the navigational computer, cross-checking with the ship’s star-charts. _Oathkeeper_ is such an elite ship – and the star-charts so accurate and up to date – that the course could probably be laid in with the push of a button, but Brienne wants him to learn navigation the old way. 

Finally he shoots her a completed course for her approval. She checks it carefully – the first few times, his calculations would have sent them crashing into their target system’s sun – before nodding. 

“Lay it in,” she says, and Pod smiles brightly as his fingers fly over the boards. 

“Course laid in, Captain,” he announces. 

“Punch it,” Brienne orders. 

He punches it. The engines hum and whir, the ship vibrating like a living thing beneath her hands, and she can feel it building to a crescendo until finally the ship throws itself into the black – 

There’s a deep grinding crunch, a series of crashing noises, and their forward momentum comes to an abrupt halt, sending Brienne and Pod flying to the deck. Distantly she can hear alarms beeping, Clegane’s outraged bellowing and the sound of Sansa’s voice over the intercom, cursing and swearing.

** 

Two hours later they’re gathered in the mess. Star charts, empty plates and half-drunk cups of coffee are scattered over the table, as they all gather round and consider what to do next.

“We’ve got no jump capability, Captain,” Sansa says. “The power coupling was completely wrecked in the ambush; until it’s fixed, we can’t go any faster than sub-light.” 

“That’s just perfect.” Clegane glowers angrily at Brienne. “Thanks to those Brotherhood cunts, we’re stuck in the Riverworlds in the middle of a bloody war.” He tears off his knitted cap and throws it on the table, oblivious to Sansa’s frown. She’d made it especially for him when he complained of the temperature in his quarters.

“Wait.” Brienne taps her fingers on the star charts, frowning thoughtfully. “What about Pennytree?” 

Clegane stares at her. “The fuck did you just say?” 

Brienne crosses her arms and glowers at him. “You heard what I said. Pennytree.”

Pod coughs and starts gathering up the empty plates and cups. 

“But that’s where –” Sansa trails off. 

“Yes, little bird,” Clegane says. “That’s where the Imperial fleet is. And its leader.” He looks pointedly at Brienne.

“Then why?” Sansa asks. 

There’s a beat of silence. In the end, Brienne only scowls. “You said it yourself, Sansa – we need to fix the power coupling. Pennytree is the closest planet, and the fleet will have so many resources they won’t miss –”

She holds up her hand to forestall Clegane’s incredulous objections. “Listen,” she says. “We’ve got one advantage here. This is a Lannister ship. I have their IFF frequencies. Who’s going to look for outlaws on one more Lannister ship among thousands?” 

“Firstly, this is not one more Lannister ship among thousands,” Clegane growls. “I don’t know what you think life in the fleet is really like, Tarth, but this ship is not typical. And secondly, I don’t know what the deal is between you and the Kingslayer –”

“Careful,” Brienne says, uncrossing her arms and squaring her shoulders, standing as tall as possible. 

“– but I’ve no intention of risking my life just so you can scratch an itch.” 

Pod makes a strangled, choking sound. 

**

Two years ago, Brienne had been escorting the Lord Commander of the Imperial fleet from the Stark stronghold of Riverrun back to King’s Landing as part of a proposed prisoner exchange. Even forewarned of her prisoner’s reputation, Brienne had still not expected Lord Jaime Lannister to be so fierce, or so dangerous; he’d tried to seize her ship, and in the ensuing struggle they’d been taken unaware by a fleet of raiders. 

They’d spent three months on the frozen prison planet of Harrenhal with only each other to rely on. By night they’d slept side by side in their cell, pressed together for warmth and clutching makeshift shivs in the long, dark night. By day they’d been forced to fight the other prisoners in mock-gladiatorial games, with rich crime lords and gangsters placing bets and cheering them on.

Jaime had lost his hand trying to protect her from a gang of the other prisoners. 

When an elite Lannister special forces team had blasted their way into the prison and rescued him, he’d insisted on going back for Brienne. Together, they’d watched from the bridge of an Imperial battleship as the powerful batteries bombarded Harrenhal from orbit, reducing it to nothing but fire-melted rock. 

** 

They go to Pennytree. 

With _Oathkeeper’s_ hull painted crimson and gold again, and broadcasting the correct codes on the correct frequencies, they slip easily into the fleet encircling the planet with no one the wiser. 

Brienne only just refrains from shooting Clegane a triumphant grin.

The next step is clothing. There had been fleet clothing in the lockers when Brienne stole the ship; sleek grey and crimson uniforms with gold lions on the breast. They meet up in the hangar deck, all dressed as Lannister soldiers, with Lannister guns at their sides. 

“Right,” Brienne says. She looks at Sansa, blade-slim and proud in her grey and crimson jumpsuit, her hair braided back. Clegane towers over her, grim and glowering, eschewing a standard weapon for his favourite Stranger. “Are you good to go?” 

Clegane and Sansa will take a shuttle over to one of the great auxiliary ships that produce all of the fleet’s spare battery cells, resources and spare parts.

“Take as much as you can,” Brienne says. “Whatever you think we might need. We may as well make the best of this opportunity.” 

Sansa’s eyes shine with the anticipation of plunder. “I’ve brought an anti-gravity sled,” she says. “We’ll load it up with all we can grab.” She darts over to the shuttle and starts preparing it for launch. 

Before Clegane can follow, Brienne grabs his arm. “Look after her,” she says, nodding towards Sansa. “If I don’t come back from the surface –”

Brienne will go down to the planet in the hope of gathering whatever information she can. If she’s more than six feet tall, broad-shouldered and ugly, she’s wearing the uniform of a high-ranking officer – and can therefore stare down anyone who thinks to question her. 

Clegane gives her a dour, sardonic look. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he says. “The Kingslayer’s not worth dying for.” 

He pulls away from her grip and heads over to join Sansa in the shuttle. Soon enough it’s ready for launch, and Brienne and Pod retreat back into the ship proper, behind a vacuum seal, and press the release for the hangar door. In a few minutes the shuttle lifts off and is on its way over to the auxiliary ship. 

They close the hangar door again, and wait for a few moments as the deck re-pressurises. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Pod asks beside her. 

Brienne doesn’t answer, lost in the memory of Jaime pressed fever-warm and heavy against her, his breath in her hair as he spoke of madness and wildfire and the death of the last Targaryen king. 

“Captain?” Pod says again. 

Brienne shakes her head. “Just make sure you look after the ship, Pod,” she says briskly. “Now help me prep the second shuttle.”

Soon enough she’s ready to go. Just before she closes the shuttle door, she tips her hand in salute to Pod. He’ll be alright. If anyone hails him, he has a Westerworlds accent and has proven surprisingly adept at lying, so long as no one can see his wide-eyed and too-expressive face. 

And then she’s on her way, flying free of the ship and heading down to the blue and green world below. 

** 

Fleet Command HQ isn’t hard to find. A great crimson and gold banner emblazoned with the gold lion flies from the top of the building, and Imperial officers in grey and crimson uniforms head in and out looking very serious and important. 

Brienne fixes a similarly serious expression on her face, walks with purpose and confidence, and simply follows them in, unchallenged. 

And that’s when – 

“Brienne of fucking Tarth,” a voice says. 

** 

The Lord Commander’s chambers are absurdly luxurious; all rich dark wood and crimson curtains. The Lord Commander himself is staring pensively out of the window when Brienne walks in, his golden beauty gilded by warm sunlight, but he turns, his attention suddenly arrested – 

“Brienne,” he says, his eyes widening. “What are you –” His gaze goes past her. “Bronn. Does anyone else know she’s here?”

Bronn Blackwater, head of security for the Imperial fleet, only grins. “I got to her as soon as she walked in. Made sure no one else saw.” 

Jaime sighs and relaxes. 

“Thought you’d be halfway to Winterfell by now,” Bronn says to Brienne with cheerful insolence. “Must be something important to bring you here, what with the price on your head and all.”

Her gaze strays to Jaime, locks with his bright green eyes. Dressed in a dark crimson tunic, his hair seems even brighter gold than she remembers, his beauty like a knife in her heart. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Bronn grins. 

“Go away, Bronn,” Jaime says, his eyes never leaving Brienne’s. “See that we’re not disturbed.” 

Bronn throws him a mock-salute and vanishes, closing the door behind him. 

Brienne clears her throat. “Jaime,” she says, suddenly tongue-tied. “I found Sansa Stark.” 

“Did you?” Jaime prowls towards her, slow and purposeful. 

“I’m taking her back to the North,” she blurts out. 

He hums under his breath. “If you like,” he replies. “I’d watch out for Boltons, though.”

He stops right before her, close enough that she reaches out and lays a hand over his heart. Beneath her palm, she can feel his slow, steady heartbeat, the reassuring measure of his life – how many times had she fallen asleep like this, in that cold, dark cell at Harrenhal? She can smell him, now, soap and sweat and the dark, masculine scent of him. 

“Jaime,” she whispers, helpless. 

He puts his hand on her cheek. “You have the truest eyes in all the world,” he says, before he leans up and kisses her. 

It’s a sweet, gentle kiss, coaxing and tender – almost chaste, even. He smiles against her lips as she sighs. And then she puts her arms around him, one hand sliding into that long golden hair and deepening the kiss, gripping him with all her strength. He laughs, slipping away from her. She makes a low sound of protest, grabs for him again, trying to hold on to the impossible – 

** 

Afterwards, lying tangled together with him, her body heavy, languid and sated, she takes hold of his hand and cradles it to her cheek. 

“Come away with me,” she whispers. 

He presses his forehead against hers, his eyes searching out hers. “And go where?” he asks. 

“Away from here,” she says. “Anywhere. There’s a whole galaxy out there, Jaime. We can be free.”

He only smiles. “And what will we do?” 

She kisses the curve of his mouth. “We’ll be space pirates,” she whispers, and feels the huff of his laughter. “We’ll have adventures and go on perilous quests. We’ll take the North back for Sansa and we’ll go looking for Arya. We’ll go where we want, take what we want, do what we want, and no one will ever stop us.” 

“It’s a good dream,” he says softly. 

She lifts her head. Sits up. Comes to a decision. “It doesn’t have to be a dream,” she says. 

He looks up at her. There’s still a trace of laughter in his smile; he’s naked and relaxed and trusting.

Slowly, his expression changes. “Brienne?” he asks. 

She reaches for her discarded uniform, crumpled on the floor, grabs her blaster and trains it on his chest. 

“Come with me,” she says again. 

**

Brienne walks just behind Lord Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Imperial Fleet, through the long and winding corridors of Fleet Command HQ, trying to conceal the mini hand-taser she has aimed squarely at his back.

He walks with maddening casual ease, lazily returning junior officers’ salutes, smiling and making small talk with his cousin Daven and otherwise giving no indication that he is under any sort of duress. 

Bronn meets them at the door.

Brienne palms the taser and tries to look stoic and disinterested. From the knowing look in Bronn’s eyes, she fails utterly. 

“One of the auxiliaries sent word,” Bronn reports. “They registered a strange blip in their security screens.” He shrugs, scratches his chin. “Probably just an anomaly.” 

Jaime hums thoughtfully. “No doubt.” 

For a moment, Bronn meets Jaime’s eyes squarely, and Brienne feels her stomach sink with dismay. Now is the time, she knows, for Jaime to signal if he needs help. 

But he makes no signal that she can see. 

Instead he says, “I’m going up with Commander Tarth. In fact –” he turns back to Brienne, grinning. “Why don’t you come with us, Bronn.” 

Brienne’s eyes widen with outrage. She opens her mouth to protest – 

“Why not,” Bronn says, smirking insufferably. 

** 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Clegane growls when they return to the ship.

**


End file.
